


Lord Peter

by Therapeutic_Steter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Cat Stiles, M/M, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 09:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12862047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Therapeutic_Steter/pseuds/Therapeutic_Steter
Summary: Steter Week Prompt November 27: Supernatural creature /Fairytale /Mythology AUPeter rung out the rag before gently placing it on his mother’s head, reaching over to feel his father’s equally flushed features.“Such a good boy,” his mother said, patting his arm with what little strength she had remaining. His father smiled softly at him even as his fell unconscious. Peter pushed back the lump in his throat, smiling shakily for his mother before venturing out into the living space.





	Lord Peter

**Author's Note:**

> So this one is a little bit of a different style than my norm, but I wanted to try something new. Hope you guys enjoy! I chose the Norwegian fairy tale “Lord Peter”, because of obvious reasons, lol.

Peter rung out the rag before gently placing it on his mother’s head, reaching over to feel his father’s equally flushed features.

“Such a good boy,” his mother said, patting his arm with what little strength she had remaining. His father smiled softly at him even as his fell unconscious. Peter pushed back the lump in his throat, smiling shakily for his mother before venturing out into the living space.

“We can split the clothes and fabrics,” Talia was saying, frowning as her eyes scanned their meager possessions. “I’ll take the pot; we only have one and I’m the eldest, after all.”

“Then I’ll be taking the griddle,” Nathan said. “I’m second eldest.”

Peter frowned. “Mother and father still breathe and you’re discussing the dividing of their property.” He shook his head in disgust.

“They won’t live for much longer, don’t be a fool,” Talia sneered. “And they’re leaving us so little; it make sense to get the divvying out of the way so there’s no arguments after the funeral.”

“If you take the pot and Nathan takes the griddle then, just what do you expect me to do for food?” Peter demanded then.

Nathan waved him off. “Take the damned cat. Maybe it’ll catch a rat or something for you two to nibble on.”

Said cat shivered against the wall, hissing at Nathan and swiping when he tried to grab it. Nathan cursed, looking like he would kick it, and Peter stepped between them, glaring at his brother.

“Leave him be,” Peter ordered, and the cat curled behind his foot, watching Nathan warningly. “He’s just as hungry as we are.”

“Then you’ll both starve,” Nathan said, rolling his eyes and climbing up the ladder to the loft where the hay that served as their mattress was. Peter glared at him.

“You know we don’t mean to be cruel,” Talia said, patting his arm softly. “But mother and father are horrid sick and are just getting worse. We need to get our affairs in order and make peace with the inevitability.”

Peter glared at her, ready to respond, when a weak call cut him off.

“Peter?” his mother called out softly. “Water?”

“Coming, mother,” Peter responded quietly, moving to get a glass of water before going back into their room, ignoring Talia. The cat slipped into the room at his feet, watching as Peter carefully helped his mother sit up and sip at the lukewarm water. Then he sat at the chair beside them, watching his parents breathe and listening to the wheezing from their lungs. The cat circled his legs, looking up at him with soulful amber eyes.

“I fear their passing is upon us,” he whispered to the cat, gently running his hand down its back. The cat leapt into his lap, curling up and purring comfortingly. Peter held the cat close and fell asleep in the chair, exhausted and hungry.

When Peter woke the next day, he knew instantly that his mother and father had not. He looked at their bodies, seeing the stillness and feeling numb in his body. He got up, joints stiff from sleep, and walked out of the room.

“They are gone,” he said to Talia who was sitting in the kitchen and staring at their lone bruised apple. Talia nodded, looking up with sad eyes before standing.

“I will start preparing their bodies, if you and Nathan will get the shovels.”

Peter nodded, moving on autopilot as he went to collect his brother and they went to dig the grave. They didn’t speak to each other the entire time, digging as far down into the soil as they could. They were poor, but Nathan was good with his woodcraft and had made a wooden casket that was big enough for both of their parents. Perhaps now Nathan could venture out into a bigger town and grow his practice into something profitable.

Talia had dressed his mother in her old wedding gown, the white stained and aged. Her face was painted with the special lipstick his mother had treasured and Talia had put just a touch of her perfume on her. For father, she had brushed his hair and dressed him in his best shirt, patches on the elbows and a small tear at the bottom. Peter and Nathan carried their father first, then their mother, placing them gently into the coffin. Peter couldn’t help but brush his fingers through his mother’s hair, eyes stinging. Talia grasped his shoulder tightly.

It was difficult lowering the casket gently, but they did the best they could. Talia read a few passages from the old Bible, the one that was nearly torn in half and only had a few books that were wholly legible. They each murmured soft goodbyes, speaking words too low for the others to hear, before throwing handfuls of dirt of their coffin. Peter dropped a bouquet of wildflowers over the box. The cat came close and meowed mournfully, sharing in their sorrow. Then Nathan and Peter grabbed the shovels and finished covering them. Finally they forced the headstone into place, nothing but their names and the year etched into the stone.

The three siblings sat in a circle at the house that night, watching the flames of the fire. The cat curled into Peter’s lap and Nathan sneered but didn’t say anything as Peter started petting it.

“I’m leaving tomorrow for Haven,” Talia spoke. “To see if any tailors there would offer me an apprenticeship.”

“I’m going to try Vartag,” Nathan said, watching the flames. “They might need a woodworker or even a blacksmith or whatever work they’ll hire me for.”

“I think I might try Beacon Hills,” Peter thought aloud. “Anywhere is better than here.”

“Amen to that,” Nathan agreed, and Peter gave his brother a tentative smile.

They slept cuddled together on the floor in front of the dying embers. Talia was tucked under Peter’s chin, Nathan at her back, as they bunched under the heavy quilt. It was likely the last time they’d see each other and, if that meant they held each other just a little bit closer, no one said anything.

…

“Goodbye, brother,” Talia said, her arms around Peter’s neck and she hugged him tightly. “Take care of yourself,” she murmured into his ear, holding him close before reluctantly pulling away. Peter nodding, slowly letting his hands fall from her sides as she turned and tugged the knapsack over her shoulder. Nathan and he met each other’s gazes evenly. He reached out for a handshake and Nathan accepted; Peter tugged him close and they shared an embrace, putting aside their differences.

Nathan and Talia took off in the same direction, though it would split off once the road hit the mountains. Haven was in the valley while Vartag was up, closer to the summit. Peter turned in the opposite discretion, towards Beacon Hills. The cat meowed from his side, looking up at him expectantly, so Peter started walking.

…

Beacon Hills was happier town then where Peter had once lived. The people smiled and welcomed him as a newcomer, offering to let him borrow things until he could get himself properly rooted. He used a borrowed ax to cut down lumber, building a small shack on unclaimed land within the territory to shield him from the elements. The cat remained at his side and Peter was glad for the company.

The cat did hunt for game, providing hare and birds that Peter cooked over the flames of an open fire. It wasn’t until Peter returned one night from working the fields as a hired farmhand when things changed. He stared at the large buck lying dead beside his shack, the cat sitting primly on its shoulder.

“What…” he breathed in confusion. Surely the cat had not…

“You must present this buck as a gift to the king,” the cat spoke.

Peter blinked in surprise, stumbling back in fear as he stared at the cat. “You…you spoke,” he accused, shaking his head. “I am going mad.”

The cat leapt from the buck, sidling closer. “You are not mad. I have slain this buck of the forest and you must present it as a gift to the king of the land.”

Peter shook his head. “Who am I, for the king to accept a present for me?”

The cat rubbed its paw over its ear. “You will address it from Lord Peter,” he said, grinning with its sharp teeth.

Peter found himself nodding before catching himself. “To what end do we do this?” he asked the cat, now studying the buck.

“To gain his favor,” the cat answered. “It is how we will make your name known and strengthen your influence”

Peter shook his head in astonishment, moving to prepare the buck for travel even while wondering why he went along with it. The cat meowed from its perch near the fire and Peter swore its eyes flashed gold, but he didn’t know if it was true or just a trick of the firelight.

…

Shortly after the gift was sent, Peter received a response from the king. The letter was sealed with rich red wax, the letter itself thick parchment. He carefully broke the seal, unrolling it.

_‘Lord Peter,_

_I am most honored to have received your recent kill. The buck was an impressive feast that left my house jolly. I would ask for your invitation of a visit to allow me to see your lands that bred such a grand beast. Do respond posthaste._

_King Scott of McCall’_

Peter frowned at the letter, eyes looking up to his shack and the woods surrounding him. 

“The king wishes to visit,” Peter said to the cat, fear rushing his heart. 

“Refuse,” the cat said simply, licking its paws. “You will visit him.”

Peter’s eyes widened. “ _I_ will visit _him_? And how am I to do that? With what attire? With what coach?”

The cat shot him a look and Peter was sure it would’ve rolled its eyes were cat’s capable. “I will take care of those things. Just write the king back and tell him you will visit him of the eve of the full moon.”

“That’s less than a week away!” Peter denied.

“Just do it,” the cat said cheekily, flicking its tail at him and making him sneeze. Peter pouted but grabbed a quill pen and the nicest piece of parchment he could find to write the letter. __

…

Peter sat nervously in the coach that the cat had mysteriously procured, grabbing at the collar of his clothes that were finer than expected.

“I still don’t understand how a cat acquired such items,” he grumbled. The cat batted at his side with a paw.

“Shush,” he ordered, before leaning against Peter’s side. “It will be fine. Calm down.”

“How can I? This is not what my intentions were when I struck out on my own,” Peter grumbled, petting the cat distractedly. It purred to comfort him and Peter couldn’t help but smile. 

“Lord Peter!”

As Peter stepped from the coach, the king was already out to greet him, beaming brightly and offering him a surprising handshake. 

“I must thank you again for your gift. I was surprised to have received such, but welcome your generosity into my lands. And I simply must accompany you back to your castle,” the king said, leading Peter into his own castle for the meal he’d had prepared. Peter casted a fearful look at the cat and it grinned.

“I will take care of it,” the cat murmured for his ears alone before left his sight.

The cat rushed down the road, stopping at a farmhand’s cottage.

“Farmer,” it called out, and the farmer paused, looking around for the speaker in confusion. “To bless your house, if asked, you will name your flocks to be under Lord Peter’s name,” the cat said.

“Lord Peter?” the farmer echoed, brow furrowed in confusion.

“So shall it be,” the cat intoned, making his voice deeper, and the farmer nodded quickly in fear.

“So shall it be,” the famer echoed in agreement. The cat grinned before dashing to the next farmhouse and repeating his trick.

After the meal, as Peter and the king road in the coach down the street, he was absolutely blown away as the farmers came to welcome Lord Peter’s return, telling of the wellness of his flocks. Peter smirked confidently at the king who complimented the nature of his lands even while Peter internally wondered at what the cat had done. When the coach pulled into a castle as impressive as the king’s himself, Peter had to force himself not to gap, instead sweeping his arm in welcome into what was apparently his home.

“What is the meaning of this?” Peter hissed as the cat skulked in the shadows behind the king.

“Trust me,” the cat said, nuzzling against his leg. “I would never lead you astray.” The cat stiffened, looking behind him. “But I have something I must take care of. Keep the king within the front of the castle and I will explain in the morning.” Then it dashed back further into the castle.

Peter smiled suavely to the king, regaling him with made up tales of his hunts and providing other sorts of entertainment. It was late in the night when the king finally left in his coach, promising to write for them to discuss an official alliance. Peter was a bit blown away by the king’s genuine jovial nature, though he seemed a bit naïve, but he was surprised to not have hated the evening. 

Once the king left, Peter ventured further into the castle, trying to find the cat. A loud thump drew his attention and Peter stood frozen in fear as a troll let out a mighty bellow, swinging its club towards the cat.

“What—” he started, before the cat jumped on him, forcing him to duck under the troll’s wild swing.

“We must lure it into the gardens,” the cat told him, before they both took off down the hallway. The troll followed, roaring its fury. The cat seemed familiar with the premises so Peter followed it, his heart racing in panic.

“Then what?” Peter demanded, scrambling around a corner with just barely enough time to avoid the troll’s crashing lunge.

The cat looked back at him and winked, eyes flickering gold, and Peter was firmly in the belief that his cat was insane.

It was nearing dawn by the time Peter exited the castle into the gardens. He was surprised by the hour but didn’t have time to focus on it, instead trying to avoid being made into paste by the troll’s heavy swings. It emerged from the castle behind him, roaring into the night air. Then it started making a fuss, which caused Peter to turn to see what had happened. He nearly screamed as he realized that his cat had leapt for its face, scratching at its eyes and hissing horribly.

“No!” he cried out when the troll grabbed the cat and slung it against the wall. Peter ran for the cat, ignoring all else, though the troll started to make an unbearable screeching. Peter looked to it, surprised to see it crumbling to dust everywhere the sun’s rays touched it. He knelt at the cat’s side, gently pulling its small body into his lap and sighing with relief as it breathed shallowed.

“Thank god,” he breathed, cradling him close. “Do not scare me like that.”

The cat meowed weakly, looking up at him. “Everything here is yours, Lord Peter. I have made it so. And now I ask of you a favor.”

Peter sniffled, eyes stinging, and he nodded. “Whatever you ask, my friend,” he promised.

“You must cut my head from my body,” the cat said.

“What?” Peter asked in horror, shaking his head. “No. No. _No._ I cannot. How could you ask this of me? I…I can’t do such a thing.”

The cat batted at him weakly. “Please, Peter. I cannot explain, but you must do this. You have given your word.”

Peter’s eyes welled with tears and he held the cat closer. “Why would you ask such from me?” Peter pled, crying into its fur.

“ _Please,_ ” the cat begged. Peter unsheathed his dagger at his side, tears making his sight blurry as he placed the dagger at the cat’s throat. He hesitated, hand shaking, the cat meowed plaintively. “Please,” he repeated, and Peter closed his eyes, forcing the dagger through the cat’s throat and cleanly cutting his head off.

Peter sobbed brokenly into his hands, releasing the dagger.

“Easy,” a familiar voice spoke, accompanied by the touch of a hand to his shoulder. Peter jerked up, staring in wonder at the young man now before him. He smiled, eyes a bright familiar amber, and Peter leapt to hug him.

“How?” he demanded, pulling away to stare at the man.

“These lands were my family’s,” he said. “But the troll had killed my father and cursed me. Only death by the hands of my most beloved could break the curse.”

Peter’s eyes widened at the implication. “Most beloved?”

The man smiled, gently cupping Peter’s face. “Most beloved,” he murmured, leaning close and kissing him chastely. “I will never leave your side again,” he promised.

“May I have your name?” Peter asked, cupping his face and smiling joyously. “Your true name.”

“Stiles,” the man spoke. “Prince Stiles of Stilinski.”

Peter laughed, embracing the man tightly as they both moved to kiss any bare skin on the other without letting go. Peter finally felt like he had found his purpose and it was in Stiles’ amber eyes.


End file.
